


The Morning Is Sure to Come

by PoeticEmptiness



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Gen, POV First Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticEmptiness/pseuds/PoeticEmptiness
Summary: A young gladiator has an unexpected encounter.
Kudos: 5





	The Morning Is Sure to Come

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mention of blood
> 
> Thank you evarcana & leechobsessed for helping me come up with the name and proofreading my story!

A new victory...  
Although, it doesn't feel like anything – I got a new day of life by taking life from someone else. If I could only be sure that Asra is safe... Then all of this wouldn't be completely pointless. Guards don't bother touching me, but are ready to attack if I tried to escape. Hmph, like I have a choice – if I tried to escape, **he'd** kill Asra. I can't do anything to **his** power... I can only obey... A picture comes to my mind of my last opponent, their pleading gaze, before... No! Don't think about it! Anyway, they were just a criminal, who cares about such a person... I have to try to survive so I can make sure **he** doesn't hurt Asra. Where is Asra now? I dare not hope to meet him, he'd never forgive me if he knew...

”Salma, neken!¹”  
I lift my gaze from the ground, started by an exclamation. I glance to my side in the direction of the sound and see a young child running towards us. The child doesn't seem to notice us, but focuses on peeking behind them with a grin. They almost run into one of the guards, but look up in time and stop abruptly. The child is a girl: she has olive skin, curly, brown hair and green eyes. She's 12 years old at most. The girl looks at me and is startled – is it because of blood or my threatening appearance, I don't know. I lower my gaze to the ground because I don't want to see the girl's stare. The girl backs away a couple of steps without saying a word, but doesn't have time to do more before another girl runs to the scene. Her skin is lighter, as is her hair: it's braided and the braids are raised as a hairstyle on the scalp, just like a headband. The girl grabs the other by the shoulders, then looks up at me – her eyes are blue. Instead of fear, the girl's expression looks worried.

A blonde girl speaks scornfully to her companion in a language I don't understand. She seems to be a little older than the other girl, and although they look different, their behavior could suggest they are related to each other. The brown-haired girl looks repentantly at her feet, but at times glances in my direction and steps a couple of steps sideways, partially behind her companion's back. The younger girl whispers something in the older one's ear, after which the older girl glances at me again, but soon turns her gaze back to her companion and snaps,  
”Salma, khewdet reftar ken... Aw khetrenak naset, aw feqt zekhema shedh aset.²”  
I don't understand a word the girl speaks, but I'm sure she's talking about me. The younger one glances at me again, but quickly turns her gaze away. A slight blush has risen on her face, as if she were embarrassed. But why..?

One of the guards follows the girls' conversation and seems to understand it. The older girl notices this and looks at the guard suspiciously. At least she seems to have sense for not trusting them. All of a sudden the girl changes the language, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her. I don't recognise this language either, but it sounds different from the previous one: earthly, homely... The younger girl isn't confused about the language change at all, but gives her one-word answers in this new language. After a while, the older girl smiles at the younger one, strokes her shoulders and apparently urges her to wait as she herself begins to approach me calmly. What's happening? I feel uncomfortable and lower my gaze again, while the guards improve their posture and grip their weapons more tightly.

The girl raises her hands in a calming gesture and opens her mouth,  
”I'm not going to disturb you, but this man is wounded. Please, let me heal him.”  
Now the girl speaks Vesuvian. How many languages can she speak? I don't have time to think about it further, as I glance at the guards to see their reaction. They look at each other in confusion and corners of their mouths twitch – as if they were holding back their laughter. The girl notices this and her mouth turns to a harsh line before she continues, ”You must doubt what I could do since I'm so young... I may not have lived too many years, but I'm good at healing spells. I'm a magician's apprentice, my aunt has taught me since I was a toddler. If this man's wound isn't treated, it can become inflamed or he'll bleed dry. Isn't he the Count's soldier? Are you prepared to take responsibility for taking his champion from your ruler?”

Then the girl turns her gaze to me and smiles, ”Of course, I'll only heal you if it suits you. I'm Hande and the other one is my sister, Salma. I apologize for her previous behavior, she didn't mean any harm – she's just shy.” What's happening... She's talking to me, not the guards... And she doesn't seem to be afraid... Why isn't she afraid? I eye up the girl. I sense her aura. It's surprisingly powerful... I also don't sense any bad will from her, which is more than I could say about the quacks that have treated me in the past... Hardly this can get any worse... I nod to the girl in response. She notices my gesture and approaches me slowly. The girl looks at me again, takes a handkerchief from her pocket and casts water on her other hand. 

”I'll clean the blood first and then look at how deep your wound is,” she explains in a calm voice. While she doesn't seem malevolent, I wouldn't want her to touch me. I don't know her... There are just no options... Rather her than that other one... The green one... The girl is watching me all the time, moving slowly. Her touch is firm, but she touches me no more than is necessary. The wound is on my stomach, it's vertical, probably pretty deep. I only start to feel the pain now that the girl is cleaning the wound. I try to hide my pain from the girl, but she's disturbingly sharp-eyed... She glances at me, and then begins to whisper words I don't recognise. My pain disappears. How exactly is she doing that? I can't help but watch as the girl conjures up my wound closed. Her handiwork is careful, though the wound will still leave a scar nonetheless. Once again...

”There, it should be ready now,” the girl notes in a gentle voice. She inspects her work and seems satisfied, ”I'm sorry I didn't succeed in removing the scar. But you don't hurt anymore, do you?” the girl asks timidly. I'm confused by the girl's concern for my well-being and shake my head. She smiles shyly at me and I feel my cheeks heating up. The girl isn't afraid of me and she's kind to me... Why? No one ever... Oh yeah, I need to thank her... The word escapes my mouth more uncouthly than I had intended, but the girl just smiles wider and responds, ”No problem.” The guards signal me to go with them and I follow. However, my journey is interrupted when I feel a hand on my wrist. The girl's hand. She raises a finger of her other hand to her lips and digs something out of her bag. I don't see what it is, but the girl pushes it into my hand. Food...

I look at the girl confused and she gently strokes the back of my palm. She opens her mouth to a whisper, ”Paistaa se päivä risukasaankin. Good luck!” and with that the girl lets go of my wrist, grabs her sister by the hand, and the duo leaves. The younger girl turns to look at me yet again. To my surprise, she smiles and waves at me. A small smile escapes my mouth, after which the girl turns to her sister. I don't know what the older girl said to me before her goodbyes. It sounded... Comforting. I hide the food I got in my clothes so the guards don't notice it. No one has ever been as kind to me as that girl. Not as long as I've been here... In this hornet's nest... 

I stare at the ground as I drag towards my dungeon. I can still feel the girl's touch on my hand. We will hardly meet anymore... But I'll never forget you... Hande.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> ¹ ”Salma, don't!”  
> ² ”Salma, behave yourself. He isn't dangerous, he's injured.”
> 
> The fic's name comes from an African proverb: "No matter how long the night is, the morning is sure to come."


End file.
